


The Little Things

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-04
Updated: 2007-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/"><b>gw500</b></a> prompt comb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

It wasn't the empty seat at the table during Easter dinner, or the long nights that he spent tossing and turning, that made Quatre realize just how much he was missing Trowa. Those he had prepared for. Knowing they would be happen, he'd made sure to have coping strategies in place. Dinner was hosted by Duo this year and Quatre had moved into the guest room so the loss of Trowa's warmth on the other side of the bed was not so obvious.

The trigger when it came was something small, innocuous, in and of itself and yet carrying with it the strength of an emotional tsunami. The comb was an old one, left on the counter and forgotten during packing. Caught in the tines were a few strands of hair and the color left no doubt as to who they had once adorned. Cinnamon and red with a flash of something darker caught the light as Quatre carefully removed them from their prison, winding the strands around his fingers and smiling at the memory of how Trowa's hair fell across his face just so. And how Quatre liked to wake Trowa up by tickling the end of his nose with those same strands

Loneliness, pain and longing hit Quatre like the proverbial ton of bricks, causing him to lean against the counter in an effort to catch his breath. Every cell in his body writhed from the depth of hurt he felt. It coursed through his veins, riding in his blood like incurable virus. Three weeks. Three weeks, twenty-one days, five hundred and four hours. Five hundred and six hours actually, but what was an hour here or there? Hours he could survive, days were manageable, but weeks were becoming oppressive and he couldn't bear the thought of months.

His fists clenched, nails biting into the calluses on his palms, Quatre turned and walked from the bathroom. The sight of the now clean comb on the counter too much to bear. He could feel the hairs cutting into his skin, a reminder of who and what he needed. Down the hall he strode, passing pictures of smiling faces and memories too numerous to count.

Crossing the living room, Quatre came to a stop in front of the vid phone. There was no hesitation, just need, as his fingers danced over the keys inputting a number he knew by heart. He was seated, reaching out to touch the cold glass of the screen, before Trowa's face appeared. Even with the static and slight distortion his smile was the most beautiful thing Quatre had ever seen.

Trowa placed one long fingered hand up to match the one Quatre had pressed against the monitor. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Quatre took comfort and strength from the virtual nearness of his lover knowing Trowa would understand his need to compose himself before speaking.

"I miss you, love. Any idea when you are coming home?"

Trowa's smile widened and softened as he held up what appeared to be his battered green duffle, obviously packed in anticipation of an evening flight. "Soon, Quat. Very very soon."


End file.
